


A Promise Broken, A Promise Made

by lockedin221b



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Anniversary, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fingerfucking, M/M, Riding, Romance, Sexual Content, Suits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-22
Updated: 2012-08-22
Packaged: 2017-11-12 16:31:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/493340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lockedin221b/pseuds/lockedin221b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John celebrate their one-year with dinner, music, sex, and a few surprises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Promise Broken, A Promise Made

**Author's Note:**

> For the amazing, lovely, talented [cinnibunny (also ](http://cinnibunny.tumblr.com/)[petitekitten](http://petitekitten.tumblr.com/)), who has a penchant for suits and cheesecake. I LOVE YOU, REE ♥
> 
> Thanks to [meg33k](http://archiveofourown.org/users/megg33k) for brainstorming and beta'ing on the go for me. Lots of love for you as well, Meg ♥

Sherlock fingered his tie for the umpteenth time. He hated the things, but tonight called for something extra. John was hardly one to take notice of the more expensive material and make of his suit, perhaps might even miss the cufflinks that replaced his usual buttoned cuffs, but the tie he would notice. His mobile buzzed on the table and he snatched it up. He scowled when he saw it was from Mycroft and not John.

Don’t be nervous. MH

He didn’t even humour Mycroft with a reply. He deleted the message and put down the phone. His fingers went back to his tie before he realised what he was doing. Tactile fixation. A trait he’d had since youth, worsened during his years as an addict, and not going away anytime soon. But he wasn’t bored, not anymore than his usual level. Anxious seemed too negative a term. Apprehensive, then. That was probably best. Apprehensive, and John was three and a half minutes late.

Sherlock turned his gaze to the other patrons of the high-end restaurant. They were embarrassingly easy to dissect, but he needed a distraction before he wrinkled his tie anymore. Business dinner, a couple in which each side was having an affair, a first date—no, male escort and his client. A busboy stole every third cash tip as he cleaned up tables. No one saw. Of course no one saw. No one ever sees. They’re too wrapped up in their own tiny minds to pay attention to the world around them.

“Sorry I’m late.”

Sherlock jumped slightly and turned his head to see John just as he was sitting down across from him. God, he looked breathtaking, and that was not an adjective Sherlock used much outside the lab and crime scenes. Well, and the bedroom of course. John was draped—yes, the best word for the incredibly well-fitted suit—in a Prussian blue two-piece with a pale powder blue shirt and black tie. He’d even gone for a haircut earlier and, yes, he was wearing a mild cologne. Suddenly, seeing the product of an entire day apart made the last twelve hours worthwhile. Even if the tail end of those hours had been spent at Mycroft’s. He felt nearly shamed in his comparatively dull all-black attire. 

“You look nice,” John said. There was a faint flush to his face, which meant Sherlock wasn’t alone with his nerves.

“You look gorgeous,” he replied.

The pink deepened. “Thanks.”

Sherlock smiled, partly to himself, and flagged down their waiter. He instructed him to bring out the pinot grigio he had selected while waiting for John. Once their waiter was gone, he snaked his hand across the table to take John’s. John turned his palm up and Sherlock brushed his fingertips along his wrist. Sherlock felt some of the tension dissipate under his touch. The table was small and intimate, and John pressed his knee against Sherlock’s.

It was, despite all of Sherlock’s natural tendencies toward logic, difficult to believe this night marked one year since their first date. Of course, a few days of secretive, intense kisses and rushed fellatio and hand jobs had preceded John’s firm insistence that they go on a proper date. Before they fucked. Sherlock was eager to agree after John’s addendum. So they had decided to mark this date. The third of February. Incidentally, also the anniversary of the first time they’d had sex.

“You alright?” John was frowning at him.

“Of course. Why?”

“You seem distracted.”

Idiot. Tonight of all nights was not the time to let his brain run off on him. He went for the honest answer. “Just remembering this day last year.”

“Ah. Yeah.” John grinned. “Good day.”

The wine arrived and they ordered their dinner. Both light meals. John was definitely dealing with nerves as well then. The wine relaxed both of them, John more so. Probably because he went through more than half a glass before their food arrived. They spoke here and there, but it had been years since they needed words in each other’s company. However, Sherlock was reluctant to remove his hand from John’s when their meals were served.

Dinner was all around a short affair. They didn’t even finish off the wine, and neither felt like sticking around for dessert. At the coat check, Sherlock held out John’s for him to slip into. They left arm-in-arm with their coats and scarves pulled tight. In the cab, John pressed against his side and threaded their fingers together.

“One year,” John whispered.

“Mm.” Sherlock rested his chin on top of John’s head.

Sherlock had never enjoyed Mendelssohn less than he did that night. While he still appreciated the adequate execution by the orchestra, his focus was anywhere but on the music. By the time they found their seats, Sherlock was convinced John was keeping something from him. He could hardly be surprised, but it took a fair effort to suppress his annoyance. They had agreed on no gifts, nothing that would cost anything at least. Despite John’s overall pleasant mood, he continued to fret with the hem of his jacket in an attempt to keep his hands from his pockets. More than once his smile was a little too desperate, as if he was already asking for Sherlock’s forgiveness. After intermission, Sherlock finally snatched John’s hand and held it on his own thigh. John’s shoulders relaxed some and he let his head rest on Sherlock’s shoulder.

The cab ride home was just as quiet as the ride to the concert hall, but this time around there was a distinct tension in the air. Back in their flat, Sherlock only took the time to hang up his coat and scarf and remove his gloves and tie before he grabbed John’s hips and pulled him close.

“Well, what is it?”

John frowned. “What-”

Sherlock released a longsuffering sigh. “I know you’ve broken our agreement. Out with it.”

John’s gaze fell. Despite himself, Sherlock felt guilty. It was a stupid reaction. He hadn’t broken their pact. Why should he be experiencing guilt? He took John’s chin between his finger and thumb and lifted his face.

At long last, John’s hand went into his pocket. He didn’t remove it right away. “I know you don’t care for convention and sentiment, but sometimes I do. So just- just bear with me, alright?” Sherlock nodded, and then he froze as John took his hand from his pocket and dropped to one knee. He fumbled for half a beat with the little box in his hand and opened it to reveal a dark grey metal band—titanium probably—and held it up. “Sherlock- Sherlock Holmes, will you marry me?”

He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t even move. Not until he saw the growing anxiety spread across John’s face. He fell to his knees and wrapped his arms around John, pulling him forward and sandwiching the little velvet box between them. He buried his face in the curve of John’s neck.

“Is that a yes?” John said weakly.

Sherlock pulled back and met John’s wonderful blue gaze. “Yes. Of course yes. God, yes. Yes, John.”

They fumbled with the ring, which ended up being a little loose on Sherlock’s thin finger. John’s expression dropped. “I’m sorry. I did my best to guess. You’d have gotten right on the first go.”

“We’ll get it adjusted,” Sherlock assured him. For a moment he admired the strange weight, and then he took John’s face in his hands and kissed his brow.

This, this was surreal. A few years ago, he’d never have imagined he would find himself so intimately drawn towards a person. It all seemed an impossibly short time to go from inattentiveness to giving himself up for someone else. This man. His John. He wondered if John felt similarly. Probably, considering it’d been little more than twelve months since he finally began to struggle with the fact that he had fallen for a man. How had he- How had they come so far in so little time?

John’s hands were slipping under Sherlock’s jacket. When had he unbuttoned it? His fingers crawled up to Sherlock’s shoulders and pushed it back. “I think my gift can wait,” Sherlock said with a smirk.

“Oh, good.” John leaned into his neck and inhaled deeply.

They went upstairs and striped off their jackets. Sherlock pushed John gently to sit on the mattress and smoothed his hands up the soft material over John’s chest. “Have I mentioned you’re gorgeous?”

“Might have.” John grinned.

“Well, just in case it’s slipped my mind.” Sherlock leaned in until his lips brushed John’s. “John Watson, you are the single most gorgeous human. And I am beyond fortunate to have you.”

John tugged him into his lap and pressed their mouths together, twisting his tongue around Sherlock’s. Sherlock unbuckled John’s belt and tugged his shirt from his trousers. He slipped his hands under waistband and pants and John moaned into his mouth and pulled at his shirt. When they had to come up for air, John leaned his forehead against Sherlock’s shoulder, panting slightly. “God, I love you.”

“The sentiment is mutual.” He worked loose John’s tie and brought it up over his head, tossing it aside. He ducked his head to nibble at John’s ear. John arched his head back, hands on the mattress behind him for support. “This is a nice suit,” Sherlock breathed against his ear. “Wouldn’t want to destroy it.”

“To hell with the suit,” John murmured and fisted his hands in Sherlock’s hair.

Sherlock flicked one button after another. After the first few, John dropped his hands and worked at Sherlock’s strained buttons. The shirts joined the tie and were followed by John’s vest and belt. Their trousers were slow to follow as they dove for another kiss. Sherlock’s thumbs traced John’s ears as John twisted his fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck. When Sherlock rocked his clothed, growing erection against John’s stomach, John pulled back and fumbled with his trousers until he could slide his hand under the pants and rub his palm down the length. Sherlock groaned and pressed into the touch. 

“Off,” John mumbled. So their trousers and pants became part of the pile. They slide up on the bed and Sherlock draped himself over John, grinding gently against him as he kissed and nibbled at John’s jaw.

Sherlock lifted off of John suddenly, and John grunted with annoyance. “I don’t want it to fall off and disappear somewhere,” Sherlock explained as he slipped off the loose ring and set it on the bedside table. As soon as he let it go, John pulled him down again.

For a moment John simply pressed his cheek against Sherlock’s chest, his arms wrapped around his back. “Mine,” he murmured.

“Yes,” Sherlock said. “Yours.” He kissed the top of John’s head and rubbed his thigh meaningfully against John’s erection. John grinned against his skin and kissed and nipped at his chest. He kissed his clavicle and dipped his tongue into the hollow of Sherlock’s throat. His fingers travelled down to Sherlock’s cleft and gently tugged it wider. Sherlock growled playfully into John’s hair.

He reached back up to the bedside table, this time to open the drawer and fish around for the lube. He reached behind him and nudged the bottle into John’s hands. John giggled against his collarbone and accepted the offering. Sherlock did his best to mark John’s jaw and ears as John slicked up his fingers. He whined as John ran his fingertip around his opening, spiralling inside and past the initial resistance. He clawed his fingers down John’s sides and arched his arse, forcing John’s finger deeper.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” John sighed, but he twisted his finger around inside Sherlock nonetheless.

“Next,” Sherlock urged, rocking against John. He could just feel John’s erection brush the inside of his thigh.

John obliged, pushing in a second finger until the two were buried up to the knuckle. Sherlock moaned every time he swept against his prostate. John’s breath grew hot against his chest. With careful, experienced motion, John scissored Sherlock gradually wider. Too gradually for Sherlock’s liking. He wriggled impatiently on John.

“John, please,” he groaned. “I’m ready.”

“Let your doctor decide that,” John teased. Sherlock ignored him and retrieved a foil packet from the drawer. “Oi!”

“Shut up,” Sherlock snapped. He bit his lip and raised his hips off of John until the fingers were out. He shimmied down John until he was below his cock. First he bent over and kissed it, revelling in the hot, twitching skin. He rubbed his thumb along the shaft and head until a drop of pre-ejaculate appeared and licked it up. John moaned above him. Sherlock tore open the packet and rolled on the condom. He grabbed the lube John had discarded beside them and slicked up John’s cock. Then he shimmied back up and lowered himself onto John.

John was right, of course. Sherlock had been impatient and should have let John stretch him more. He didn’t care. He was too needy and John felt too good inside him. It was worth a little burn. He paused to catch his breath, and John’s hands found their way onto his own pulsing erection. That made Sherlock move, and he lifted himself up until just the head was left breaching him. As he pushed down, he and John let out a simultaneous moan. John must have been giddy from the adrenaline rush that came with proposing because it started him giggling again. That is, until Sherlock began moving in earnest, when the laughter turned to a sharp gasp.

As soon as the earlier pain subsided, Sherlock ground himself harder onto John. The hips beneath him lifted in rhythm as best they could. When they started to buck more sporadically, Sherlock quickened his pace. John pumped Sherlock’s cock in his hand, and for a moment Sherlock was fucking himself on John and in his grip.

Sherlock came first. He always came first. It didn’t take long once John had his hand on him. Sex with John never failed to wreck all the physical self-control he had carefully constructed over the years. John caught it in his hand as Sherlock jerked and clenched around him.

John came in the final pulses of Sherlock’s release, shoving his hips into Sherlock with a loud cry, his free hand gripping Sherlock’s thigh. Sherlock may have been the more sensitive of the two, but John was the reason they decided to move into the third-floor bedroom.

John’s hips fell back onto the mattress. They were both trembling, both reeling from the endorphin rush. Sherlock leaned over John with his hands on either side of his head. When he could open his eyes again, he was met with John’s smile.

“I don’t want to move,” John sighed.

“So don’t.”

John chuckled. “But my prick’s still inside your arse.”

“It can wait until I regain some muscle control.” Sherlock grinned down at him.

When he finally lifted himself off of John, he immediately collapsed at his side. John rolled off the condom, knotted it, and tossed it in the bin by the bed. He grabbed a few tissues and wiped off his hands, then Sherlock’s. The tissues followed the used condom and John rolled over to face him.

“Ow,” John said and went back to lying on his back. He fished around the mattress and came up with the lube. He put it on the bedside table and returned with Sherlock’s ring. He held it between them and smiled lazily. “Still want to marry me?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Obviously I only said yes so you would fuck me.”

“I think you did most of the fucking tonight.”

Sherlock closed his hand around John’s and the ring. “I should be the one concerned about you wanting to have me.”

“I’ve put up with you for this long.” John scooted closer to him. “You’ve changed my life in more ways than one, Sherlock. All of them good.”

“All of them?” Sherlock frowned. He could list a number of things he’d done to hurt John, not least of which was three years of abandonment.

John bit the inside of his lip, but only briefly. “In the long run, yes. You’re here, with me. And if you’re here to stay, that’s what matters.”

Sherlock pulled up John’s hand and kissed the inside of his forearm. “I’m here to stay, if you’ll keep me.”

“I think I will.” John pulled his hand from Sherlock’s and slipped the ring back on his finger.

They curled up with one another, and soon John drifted off. Once he had, Sherlock carefully pried himself free and went silently downstairs to shower. He was wrapped in his blue dressing gown, seated in his chair with his knees propped up, rolling the ring between thumb and forefinger when John came down a little after midnight. He smiled sleepily at Sherlock and disappeared into the bathroom.

Sherlock put the ring on the end table beside him and stared at it. Engaged. To be married. To John. His head buzzed. Something he had never considered, even after being in a relationship with John for a year. He had simply been content with their present situation, grateful even. He had always feared John wouldn’t be able to handle it for one reason or another, probably more because of distrust than a sexual crisis. He had never expected something more to happen. But there it was, the symbol that said John wanted Sherlock by his side for the rest of their lives. Impossible, but real.

As soon as John emerged from the bathroom, showered and a little more awake, Sherlock leapt to his feet and dash over to his violin. John looked at him curiously and sat when Sherlock directed him to. “My gift,” was all he said before playing.

It had taken him weeks to compose, mostly because he had to wait until John was out by himself to work on the piece. He kept his eyes closed while he played the soft, rich music. It had been a peculiar experience, composing through emotion as much as technique. Conjuring up the delight John gave him was an easy, yet overwhelming task. The piece was certainly unlike anything else he had ever written.

He waited until the vibrations of the last note faded completely before opening his eyes. John was gazing at him, eyes wet and mouth slack.

“You... enjoyed it?” Sherlock lowered the violin.

“That was- ‘amazing’ doesn’t cover it. Brilliant.” He rubbed away the unshed tears and smiled. It was honest and warm and only for Sherlock. “Thank you, love.”

Sherlock only nodded, not convinced his voice wouldn’t get away from him. He put up his instrument and walked over to John, picking up his ring on the way. But John got out of his chair abruptly.

“Something else,” he said, and hurried off to the kitchen. He poked his head into the fridge, the smaller one they had bought to finally keep food separate from Sherlock’s specimens and experiments. He rustled around for plates and forks and returned with two slices of cheesecake. Sherlock’s partiality to the dessert had surprised them both a few months back.

Sherlock smiled and took one of the plates. They retired to the couch and nestled together, eating their cheesecake in an exquisite silence. Every now and then, Sherlock’s ring would clink softly against the plate.


End file.
